


everything is more beautiful because you are doomed

by stardustandfantasies



Category: Padz and Friends (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Mythology References, Purple Prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 17:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15587136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandfantasies/pseuds/stardustandfantasies
Summary: He’ll never be lovelier than he is in this moment.





	everything is more beautiful because you are doomed

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: a failed attempt in writing purple prose.
> 
> I do not own PAF. This was written some time in 2014 - 2015.

The first time you met him you heard his laughter rang, melodious as Apollo’s harp, reverberating through the dark empty chambers of your heart, darker and emptier they though are than those in the Underworld. You wondered if ichor runs through his veins, beneath muscles and sinews that only Hephaesthus himself could carve with such perfection.

There is something about him that is more magical than spells and more potent than weapons, something that strikes your heart with unsatiated wonder, something that makes you think that he is more than what his frail, ethereal body betrays, larger than the life of mere mortals.

He burns too bright, like the sun, even in your darkest nights. When you touch his skin he bursts into flames, red and golden and bright, but you are surprised that he doesn’t burn nor blind you.

Sometimes a fear strikes your heart—the kind of fear mortal beings have for things grander and more powerful than them, a fear that maybe your salvation will deliver you to your doom. Like Icarus, you're flying too close to the sun; maybe one day your wings will tear into a hundred infinitesimal pieces and you will fall from grace.

And yet come daybreak and you always realise that your fears are unfounded and he is just a human after all, with his sleeping body paper-frail and vulnerable under the faint morning light. One day age would crease the corners of his eyes where laughter once did and golden locks would turn silver, then white as snow, as death. He will cease to be divine and everything greater, deeper, higher than human about him will wither with his strength.

Even Achilles, the finest of all, was not spared of the ruthless judgment of the Fates. One day an arrow would pierce your Achilles in the heel and he will meet his doom just as you will (this you are always aware about).

But you realise, too, that everything is more beautiful because you are doomed. His numbered days only makes you all the more ardent a believer; you’ll be damned if you don’t cherish every kiss, every touch, every moment you share with him, for he’ll never be lovelier than he is in this moment.

You shower adoration through kisses and caresses at the temple that is his body, and your prayers are whispered in hungry breathlessness, calling for more and more of him as you dance with him to the rhythms of desire. You continue to worship his body with kisses and caresses, the body of a mortal it nonetheless is, a fleeting casket that would be destroyed by age and rot six feet under, sooner or later.

You'd like to think that perhaps the gods are looking at you in envy from their abode above.


End file.
